


Closer

by writtenbyfreckles



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bridgerton (TV) Fusion, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Alternate Universe - Regency, Blackinnon x Bridgerton, F/M, Fake Dating, blackinnon, fake courting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:14:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29887848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writtenbyfreckles/pseuds/writtenbyfreckles
Summary: Inspired by the line "If this is to work, we must appear madly in love."And my 17 rewatches of Bridgerton because, well, you know.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Marlene McKinnon
Comments: 9
Kudos: 16





	Closer

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the Smut is Life ladies for their brainstorming, support, beta-ing, friendship, love, cheerleading, drinking, humour, laughs and gifs. This is for all of you.

"Stare into my eyes." 

She looked up in apprehension. Caught on his eyes and held there, like a fly in a web. They were soft now, gentle. Like he was trying to prevent her from spooking. She did her best to block out the noise of the ballroom, the revel makers, the dancers around them. 

As if she could forget that everyone was staring at them. 

He squeezed the hand he held. A light pressure on her fingers she wouldn't have thought him capable of when they had first met. Only a short number of weeks ago, in the presence of her childhood friend, his now brother. A smile graced his lips, one of encouragement, meant only for her. She followed the motion of his eyes and curtsied as he bowed. 

"Closer." 

The hand on her waist made her breath catch in her throat. Her hand fell to the crook of his elbow, before sliding up to his shoulder. He pulled her toward him, until she was against him, so close the heat of his body scorched through her dress. She'd never been this close to a man before. 

"If this is to work, they must believe that we are madly in love." 

His words reminded her that this was a ruse. An act. A game of make believe with the highest of stakes, her future life.

As they started through the moves of the dance, her head was swarmed with the memories of less than an hour before. Memories of fear and revulsion, followed by anger and apprehension, and then, in the unlikeliest of forms, came hope. 

He had happened upon her moments after she'd punched Lockhart, straight in the face, for trying to force himself on her. In the dark of the garden she'd only had time to thank her lucky stars her brothers had taught her how to hit someone properly, and that she hadn't broken her thumb. 

She hadn't had a chance to even contemplate the precariousness of her situation when he emerged from the darkness. 

"Bravo. He had that one coming to him."

Sirius Black. The Duke of Grimmauld. 

The handsome rake who hadn't been seen for years. The untimely death and disappearance of his brother, rumoured to be linked to the rise of Lord Voldemort, had seen the Duke, then still a teenager, flee overseas some years ago. The passing of his father, the transfer of the title, had seen his reluctant return. He had begrudgingly taken over management of the estates and land attached to the Dukedom but had yet to be seen in the presence of his family. 

Tonight Marlene had found out why. 

"Are you alright?" 

Marlene was staring down at the unconscious buffoon at her feet, still not processing the events of the last few minutes. 

An argument with her childhood friend turned guardian, a misplaced agreement to marry said buffoon, the eyes of the party guests on her had sent Marlene out in the garden. She had wanted a few moments alone. To gather her thoughts, regain her countenance, come up with a plan to quietly extract herself from a less than desirable engagement. 

Now she stood, mere moments from the darkest part of the garden, seconds from ruining her reputation with two men. 

"I am fine. Just fine. Oh God, what am I going to do?"

"Marry me, Miss McKinnon," the perhaps not quite unconscious Lord Gilderoy Lockhart groaned from the ground. 

"Romantic, I am sure," the Duke curled his lip in disgust. "I hope you have not said yes." 

"Of course not," Marlene spat the answer, as she rubbed her knuckles. 

"Oh good. Can I kick him then?" 

"Do whatever you would like. I need to figure out what I am going to do," Marlene paced back and forth, wringing her hands. 

"It can not be all that bad," the Duke may have given Lockhart a few nudges with his toe, based on the sounds that came from the ground.

"Says a man who does not need to find a husband." 

"Thankfully no, I do not. But I can not imagine that you would have such trouble, a beautiful woman such as yourself." 

"I was not having any trouble, at all," Marlene tried to ignore the flush creeping up her neck and into her cheeks at his words. He'd stated it more like a fact than a compliment. She shouldn't let it get to her head. "Until that damn Lady Bettledown started spreading her ridiculous gossip sheet around." 

"Ah, yes. I have seen that devil of a woman all but pronouncing you a spinster, taking joy in knocking down the season prize diamond. Chased your suitors away, has she?" 

"I beg that you would not jest, Your Grace. At least not about my life. Which is what she trifles with." 

"You seem too sensible a woman to care for marriage so much." 

"My family is gone, I am the last of the McKinnons. But a woman can not inherit property, nor wealth. Friends, the Potters, as you well know, have taken me in out of the goodness of their heart. But that can not last forever. I can not be a burden to my friends. And so I must marry."

"How practical." 

"Indeed," she took a breath. In for a penny, she thought. "But if I must marry, I want the one thing that my parents had." 

"A fancy wedding?" 

"Love," her sharp reply pulled the laughter from his words, his face. "I want to marry for love. It is my life after all. So I beg that you do not jest with it." 

"My apologies, Miss. I do tend to use humour as a reflex. But, regrettably, Bettledown's words have been a damn thorn in my side, as well." 

"Surely a Duke such as yourself does not need to bother with what is written about him in the gossip sheets," Marlene's disbelief carried a strong note of sarcasm. 

"My dear Miss McKinnon, I despise to tell you that the meddling Bettledown has all but issued a challenge to my family. By announcing my return to polite society, she has all but challenged them to find me a wife. One who is suitable for their needs." 

"And what are their needs?" 

"Someone who shares their beliefs. Beliefs that I do not adhere to. Beliefs that I am, in fact, disgusted by. They think that if I was wed to someone who follows their way of life, then they would convince me to change my ideals, to theirs." 

"Are they right? Could that happen?" 

The Duke laughed bitterly, "Definitely not. I have too strong a character to be changed by a woman." 

"Of course," though he oozed charm, and was undoubtedly handsome, the cool dismissal of a woman as someone to listen to turned Marlene off him. Or it would have, had she ever even considered him a prospect. 

"Well," she took several steps backwards, towards the ballroom and the party that had suffocated her. "I would appreciate it if you could mention this no one, and I will leave you to your… whatever it was that you were doing."

She turned to go, eager to escape, to forget that the man she might yet still have to marry lay prostrate on the floor, yet to rouse fully. It was only as she placed a foot onto the first step up to the manor that his voice stopped her. 

"We could use each other, you know," the Dukes's voice was careful. Considered. 

Marlene turned back, slow, hesitant. "What do you mean?" 

"You need to find a husband. Someone much more agreeable and suited to you than this pathetic sod," he aimed another kick toward the lifeless Lockhart. 

"How could you help with that?" 

He was on her in three long strides. She stiffened as he stepped into her space. Closer than was proper. Close enough that anyone entering the garden would assume the worst and she would be compromised. Her virtue, her value, diminished. 

And yet, she did not step back. 

"I could make you seem desirable," the Duke reached out, softly tucking a lock that had come free from her coiffed hair back behind her ear. "If you were on my arm, it would bring you to the attention of other men. You could have your pick of the most eligible bachelors." 

Marlene tried not exhale audibly as his hand dropped from where it had caressed her skin, his fingertips trailing across her neck. "And how could I help you?"

"You are from an old family, Miss McKinnon. While you may be the last left of them, and the man my family sees as their leader is most likely responsible for that, you are still from an old family that in many ways represents what they value." 

"I would never - I could never," Marlene was stopped by his placating hand on her wrist. 

"I know," he stroked gently. "And that is why I know I can trust you in this. Why you can trust me. If I knew nothing else about you, your disdain for the values that my family holds most dear would be enough." 

She stared at him for long moments, trying to read his indecipherable gaze. Eventually, she nodded for him to continue. 

"By courting you, my family will believe I am bending to their will. By beginning a relationship with you, I will get what I desperately crave."

"And what is that?" Marlene felt her teeth sink into her lip at the end of her words. His eyes followed the movement. She was nervous for his answer. What could a man like the Duke want so badly he would come up with a such a scheme? 

"Freedom," the word fell from his lips like honey. He spoke it reverently. Honestly. 

She believed him. 

"So, your plan is that we will form an attachment? We will pretend to court, in order to give you the space and peace that you so desire, and in doing so, make me desirable enough that I could attract the attentions of a Prince, should one appear?" 

"That is my plan. I only have one condition," the Duke's lips curved into a smile. It spoke of mischief, of humour that was kept well hidden under his usually dark, disdainful countenance. 

"And what is that?" 

"You must not fall in love with me." 

He was goading her. Marlene could see it plainly across his face. It made his eyes dance. She fought to maintain her temper. To wipe the smug look off his face. 

"I am more concerned that you will fall in love with me. You have already commented on how pretty you find me." 

She succeeded in her mission, the smirk was gone, but the darker flare in his eyes left her feeling even less safe than she had before. 

"I believe I said you were beautiful," his tone sent a shiver down her spine. "So we have an agreement?" 

He held out his hand toward her. She looked at it and then looked back at him. 

"Yes," she placed her hand in his. "We have an agreement." 

That was how she'd come to re-enter the party on the Duke's arm. How they walked slowly, but purposefully through the throngs of finely dressed attendees to the dance floor, just as the band moved to strike up a new number. Whispers and nudges followed them across the room. Marlene was unused to such attention and would have stumbled if not for the Duke's reassuring presence at her side. 

And so they danced. Stepping and skipping perfectly as if this wasn’t their first dance together. Eyes only on each other. Her hand gripped his shoulder, fingers pressing into the firm muscle she found there. His hands, one warm and solid on her waist, the other enclosing hers were her lifeline. Every time she felt overwhelmed and her gaze started to slip, he brought her back with a squeeze, his thumb rubbing back and forth. 

The music swelled and then slowed, as did their movements. When they came to a stop, instead of moving back, as protocol dictated and society expected, he moved forward. His lips fell to her ear, so close she could feel his breath as he spoke. 

"Well done, Miss McKinnon. Act one complete." 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think.   
> I haven't decided yet if there will be more.   
> We'll see,   
> Freckles xx


End file.
